Rogue Queen for King
by skyflyte12
Summary: How does a lass gain a throne that has been earmarked for centruries as Men Only? Well, it takes a really quick mind... and beyond that a hell of a lot of blind luck. HIATUS
1. Blueprint

_**Sunday, October 12, 485HE**_

Why is it that the Rogue is always controlled primarily by a King? I mean, there is a Queen, but she does next to nothing except stand around looking intimidating and pretty - mostly. I'll admit that some have pulled their weight, but they are never allowed so much control over their 'people' as the King, nor are they awarded with as much respect. Certain events occurred to push me to refuse to let this insidious example of sexism continue to exist within Tortall, especially now that lady knights are accepted within the higher levels of society. Only one hitch – how does a lass gain the throne? Well, it takes a really quick mind…and beyond that a hell of a lot of blind luck.

It was about 10 months ago now that I started writing this journal, mainly acos Jak told me not to. He said it was "_dangerous_ for a shadow to keep something as stupid as a diary lying about," and that the Provost's guards could very well use it to catch me. I said that since I was smarter than any shadow no one would ever find it, and that I would write one. Gods we used to fight about the stupidest stuff.

Anyways, this is my diary and since I was gonna let no one read it, I haven't included much of the dates; I even doubt that everything is in the correct order. Really the only reason I bothered was cos Jak told me not to. He probably wanted to read it to find some blackmail against me or sommat, so I would do some stupid mission that I would normally refuse. Fortunately he's too crack knobbed to find this thing.

I guess a lot has changed since I started writing this diary, and not only my position in the Rogue. Anyway, now that I have responsibilities and knots to straighten out I have no time for this thing and will leave it where it is, for future people to read. Can't have an updated version falling into the hands of my enemies, for there are quite a few…it makes life interesting, you see… although I'd think they wouldn't be smart enough to find it either.

When I started this diary, I was perfectly comfortable with where I was in life, and would have laughed at or attempted to kill the person who even suggested that everything would end up this way, for more reasons than one. It started with a cold winter night…

**1. Blueprint**

_**Friday, December 23, 484HE**_

I gently swirled my glass of wine while scrutinising the dancers. Noble ladies in moderately cut gowns of all colours swayed to the music, clutching at the single men who had asked them to dance. Off the dance floor there were even more ladies who were either gossiping, flirting with men, or gazing scathingly at certain maidens that were dancing with the most desirable bachelors. I really need to be paid more for this was the predominant thought in my mind.

Luckily for me, I was no beauty, and thus did not attract much attention at all. I think if a pansy nobleman approached me, I would be more likely to tip this glass over his head, although this was contrary to my strict orders; and besides, I was enjoying the free wine. As far as looks go, I guess I'm not bad off, but compared to the other ladies at this ball I am plain, and thanking the Gods that this was so.

Sighing, I subtly tipped my drink into a pot plant, thinking I shouldn't overindulge lest I lose my wits. Catching a glimpse of my reflection in a piece of glass almost made me curse in a very un-lady-like way. My auburn hair had been released from its usual tie and was falling down my back in soft curls; light brown eyes were almost concealed under the customary avalanche of makeup and, to top it all off, I was wearing a scarlet coloured dress. This was worse than my idea of hell, but it was 'Necessary.' At least that's what His Majesty had told me when he _commanded_ me to attend. Woop-de-doo.

The King stood up and fulfilled my favourite part of attending balls – telling everyone that it was over. With small, even steps, I exited the hall and followed the stream of nobles towards the entrance to the castle. Many carriages waited outside, but the one with the picture of a lock and key on the door drew my eyes. Still stepping daintily, I approached; feeling more relaxed with every step, as I was finally making my getaway.

Once I was out of the crowd, I made eye contact with Harrison, the driver of the carriage, and grimaced. He raised an eyebrow in amusement and opened the door for me. So it was that I managed to escape into the blissful darkness of the carriage interior. I listened carefully as Harrison nudged the horses into a trot. Once we had exited the gates, I started tearing off the dress with vehemence.

Harrison must have heard the rip of fabric, because he laughed quietly and said pointedly, "I think His Majesty wanted to reuse that."

I was in the process of securing my hair messily in a leather tie, but managed to say loftily, "Really? I had no idea."

I could almost imagine the disbelieving look on Harrison's face as he scoffed, "Oh sure, I believe you Calla. I thought you would have at least remembered how _much_ that curst thing cost, and restrained yourself."

I observed the mess of ripped fabric that was unceremoniously strewn about the carriage and sighed in regret, "Oh Heck and Damn. I should have left it in one piece."

I stretched out luxuriously, resting my feet on the opposite seat. Harrison had turned around to scrutinise me through the small window, his eyebrows raised. He knew when I was being sincere, and my former statement had shocked him. Rolling my eyes, I grinned wickedly and explained, "Oh, I don't care about the cost; in fact just recently I was thinking to myself that I should have demanded to be payed more, so I think he _should_ have to pay for that thing. No, I would have liked to see His Majesty in a dress. You did say _he_ wanted to reuse it, did you not?"

Harrison treated me to a stern look, clearly unamused that I was imagining Majesty in a dress. Gods, some people are touché. Harrison was one of those people you never even _thought_ about insulting the Rogue in front of, because it was more likely than not that you would turn up dead the next day for undermining his rule. Fortunately, I am not most people. Besides, we've been friends almost since I was found on the streets all those years ago, and he knew I was just joking around - mostly.

I stretched languidly and picked up a piece of fabric, wetting it and using it to wipe off the layers of makeup. I drew out a small mirror to examine my face, and managed to wipe away the last of the hideous stuff. I stared in disgust at the piece of fabric, which was now covered with the black and white ooze, and then threw it on the floor. It was just after my remonstrations that the carriage pulled up at a small side gate leading towards some stables. Harrison signalled the guard, who waved his hand to raise the gate. It was very handy having friends.

Some late night ostlers silently rode two horses up to the carriage just as I stepped out, and I shot a grin at the man who passed me a mount and swung into the saddle. Harrison mounted the other, and the ostlers jumped into the carriage and directed the horses down to the stables.

Harrison handed over a small bag of money and we rode out the gate, heading back into Corus. It was _much _easier commandeering a carriage rather than attempt to hide it at the Dancing Dove – it would disappear in a matter of minutes, not to mention we would be found out after a few seconds – for some reason nobles didn't like thieves... weird, no? Anyway, the only way we can get around the Whisperman is to make sure everything is authentic – at least to a degree – thus the carriage.

We spurred our mounts into a gallop and I snuggled further into my coat – Midwinter was _cold_.

.xXXx.

In next to no time, we were stowing the horses in the stable around the back of the Dove and slipping in through the back.

The customary rowdiness and laughter of many people crashed into us as I opened the door. Lanterns provided sufficient light to navigate the backrooms, and I led the way through to the bar. At almost midnight, the celebrations were in full swing, and there were loud calls of greeting as the thieves noticed us. My eyes snapped straight to the fireplace, where in a large chair was seated the Rogue. I knew that he had noticed us the moment the door swung open, but at that moment he was seemingly absorbed in a conversation with Ward, a district chief.

This pretence didn't fool me a whit and I sauntered up to him. I'll admit it; Jak is handsome – his light brown hair always looking carefully like he had just walked out of bed with it that way, (although I knew he was vain and spent ages playing with it to get it 'perfect') along with startling green eyes, broad shoulders and hard muscles – but Mithros he is egocentric. That's why I decided to break it off with him a few years ago - I told him I couldn't be with a cove who spent more time in front of the mirror than I did. He was about 22, and my best guess is that I'm about three years younger than him, but it doesn't really matter. We had been friends for as long as I could remember, and the friendship didn't stop after our 'closer' relationship.

Suppressing the impulse to hit him upside the head for making me go to a noble's ball, I stood with my arms crossed, steadily glaring at him. He continued talking to a currently very nervous Ward, and after a few minutes turned his head and unconvincingly widened his eyes, feigning surprise at seeing me there, but failed miserably due to the boyish grin that was plastered across his face. I scowled, "You will never be a Player."

"So you've said. Repetitively. Did all go to plan?"

I raised an eyebrow, "I'm not dead now, am I?"

His eyebrows seemed to snap together and he slowly and thoughtfully looked me up and down, and said, "Well, since you are talking, it is my unofficial diagnosis that you may very well be alive, but I think we should call in a Healer just to make sure – ya never know." He shrugged, eyes dancing.

I knew very well that he was trying to distract me from being angry with him for springing this job on me – he hadn't said exactly what it would entail, but left that unpleasantness to Harrison. I could not undermine his authority as the Rogue in front of his Court, but he should know by now that he would encounter something extremely unpleasant in the near future… maybe the very near future. "_Anyway,_ since when have you ever known _me_ to get caught?" I raised a brow mockingly.

"That's why you're one of the best." He said with satisfaction, and jumped up. He put an arm around my shoulders and led me up the stairs, ushering me into his room. He closed the door firmly and activated the anti-eavesdropping spells with a word, then turned to me, a serious look on his face.

I rolled my eyes and drew out a piece of parchment. It was a blueprint of the dungeons – they were holding one of Jak's men who had been captured while poking around the castle. Unfortunately, he knew a lot about Jak and the plans for the future of the Rogue, so he would either be smuggled out or killed. Most likely the former, unless he had talked. The reason I had to get the blueprint was that servants were not allowed down there, so none but some jumped up nobles or the provost guards knew the lay out, both of which were sources that we would rather contrive to avoid.

Jak studied the map, and I yawned widely and settled down in a chair. I didn't mind just relaxing while he was going over the scrolls – at least it was quieter than downstairs. I allowed my eyes to drift shut, but almost as soon as they closed I felt uncomfortable. My eyes snapped open to Jak staring at me, giving me that searing gaze that I detested so. The blueprints were being neglected on the table, and I was going to point this out when he moved forward and captured my lips with his.

Even as I felt the heat searing into my veins I pushed him away forcefully. I could see his anguish at my rejection, and I almost missed his next words, "Calla, would you please listen to me? I love you…"

Fine, so I'll admit it. What we had was more than a fling, but he asked me to _stay_. For anyone who knows me, they know that I'll stay in a place for only as long as _I_ want – if someone asks, or worse, _tells_ me to stay – it's more likely than not that I'll be gone by next morning. I'd drutter not go into why this is, but suffice it to say that my past wasn't exactly pleasant. How else does one end up in the rogue?

In the blink of an eye I was out of the seat and at the door, saying quickly, "I've gotta go Jak." I yanked at the handle, but it was locked. Panicking, I pulled out some lock picks and started on the damn door that was blocking me from my escape route.

Jak watched me struggle ferociously with the lock and asked forlornly, "Why is it that whenever someone asks you to stay, you go?"

It was no use though, because he was talking to an open door.

.xXXx.

With every step away from that door I got calmer and calmer. Arriving at the top of the stairs, I remembered that it was very loud in the Dove. I jumped straight to the floor lithely, almost landing on top of Harrison. He was bearing a mug of ale but seemed to be worried about something. I clapped him on the back and sat down easily.

He raised an eyebrow, "How's Jak?"

I got all fidgety at the mention of_ his_ name so close to my near escape that I jumped up straight away and started to move towards the door. Harrison caught my wrist in one of his massive hands and set his jaw. He wanted an answer. Which I have to say, _was_ a smart thing, considering what I'd done to Jak in the past.

I grinned roguishly and said, "He'll live. All that's wounded this time's his pride." There was no fun in giving a straight answer, so usually I contrived to be as confusing as possible. It was one of my charms.

Harrison dropped my arm and looked concernedly towards the stairs, and I took this marvellous opportunity to make my second escape that night – third if you count the ball.

Just as I opened the door, I saw Jak swaggering down the stairs and thanked the gods that I wasn't still stuck in the Dove.

I guess now's the time to write about where I live. Well, there's really no set place. I take full run of Corus, spending nights at a time away from the Dove. Most often I return after my back gets sore from sleepin on roofs, but I always go away again. Sleeping on a roof is an awesome sight, but unfortunately very painful at times. Thankfully I've only experienced fallin' off but once, and that was the Provost Guard's fault. Some trumped up law 'enforcer' attempting to catch The Shadow. Meh. I laugh in the face of the law. Seriously. That's why I fell off the goddam roof.

I was casually walking around to the side of the Dove, heading for a particular loose board that housed my bedroll and a bag with a few clothes, when a few louts strutted out of the Dove and surrounded me.

I felt the familiar quickening of my heartbeat as I sized up the three, muscles bulging under their shirts. The idiots were drunk, a thing that I was extremely grateful for. My particular brand of fighting was extremely unconventional.

My gaze darted around the clearing as I removed my one and only dagger. I wasn't looking for an escape, I was looking for something to use to my advantage. I smiled slightly as I caught sight of a pothole and a loose board.

As the first man advanced, I could only be happy that these men had no grasp of tactics – it would have been easier to win had they all advanced on me at the same time. Oh well, I have learnt that it is better to bless an opponent's ignorance; it helps you to survive.

Ok, so this huge, muscled man is fast advancin on lil' old me. Did I mention he was huge?

I grabbed his wrists and pinched the skin in between his thumbs so he dropped the daggers, and used his own momentum to spin him round so he practically flew into one of his buddies.

The buddy in question stumbled back under the newly acquired weight which had semi-knocked him out, but managed to stay standing. Before they could untangle themselves, I ran in and shoved the second man back by jabbing him in the stomach with the hilt of my knife. This had the desired effect, by making him take a few steps back.

Now, a little jab from little ol' me by all the laws of gravity _shouldn't_ have caused this mountain of a man to fall over. However, he did trip into an _unfortunately_ placed pothole that sent both men crashing into the wall of the Dove. Opps… Not.

Now, while I was dealing with these men, I had by no means forgotten about the third one. He stood a little way away, now looking slightly less cocky and slightly more worried. I smiled at him and cocked an eyebrow, "Whatcha waitin' for buddy? An invitation?" As always, the rush of adrenalin had enhanced my street slang, but I was having too much fun for it to bother me.

He still stayed still, but he was shaking slightly, and to my surprise he asked a question. "Are you The Shadow? Calla Senka?"

I sighed and scratched my head thoughtfully, "Yup. What's it to ya?"

He gulped, and to my surprise started advancing on me. _Usually_ when an opponent asked my name they 1) didn't know I was the Shadow, and 2) immediately ran away. Now here was a guy who needed to know my name to see if he had enough guts to attack me. This was an oddity. Oddities bothered me.

Ok. So the third mountain of a man was advancing slowly, which proved he had slightly more brainpower than his buddies, who had come rushing in, just begging to be knocked out. He moved closer to the wall – ah. There was his big mistake. I _did_ only say he possessed _slightly_ more brainpower than the others, not a lot more. I took a few steps back, forcing him to follow. All of a sudden he moved in quickly, bringing his leg up for a kick that could probably dismantle buildings. I threw my dagger into the foot that was still on the ground, and he dropped the leg harmlessly, retreating like an injured animal… right into the very loose piece of wood that was jutting out – a horrible hazard, such a menace, if you ask me.

His head hit the wood with a dull thunk and he dropped. "And the score is… louts: 0 me: 3! And the drunks go wild!!!"

I pushed some errant burgundy hair that had escaped the tie out of my eyes and collected my one and only dagger.

Ok. Here is where I explain why I fight like I do. Lacking any type of formal combat training forced me to be creative. When I was younger, I learnt to fight by defending myself from the other young thieves, and every loss was a hard lesson. Instead of learning a technique, I found my own. It was either that or get killed, so I hadn't much choice. Anyway, I used my own perceptiveness to use the environment to my advantage. Have you ever noticed that when people fight each other, the only thing they seem to have the brain capacity to focus on is the other person? Well, I use that to my advantage. By making use of the natural settings in which I fight, I can win against fairly skilled opponents, or at least put up a damn fun show. It was my unpredictability that made me a good fighter, not any actual training, although I do watch people fight and try to copy some of their moves.

I started whistling innocently as I walked away from the three unconscious man-mountains, stopping a few metres away to pull up yet another suspiciously loose board, although it was one no one would notice by just looking. Inside the wall it was hollow, and there was a bedroll and bag. I pulled out the bedroll but left the bag, and then dug up a corner of the dirt to expose some silver pieces, which I shoved into the specially made inside pocket of my breeches. I then replaced the board seamlessly and continued on my merry way.

.xXXx.

**A/N:** Well, I have thought up a new story. Surprising, no? Please comment to tell me if this is good, bad or boring, it's not really that hard. :)

Ok, a note on the time period. If you've read my G2tL story, it's the year before Adalia becomes a knight, if not, it's about 17yrs after Trickster's Choice, and due to a certain meddling Goddess, most conservatives have become extinct. (Thus my "lady knights being accepted" stuff) so enjoy, that's really the only thing you may have had a problem with.

Skyflyte12

**P.S:** Please review? flutters eyelashes pleadingly


	2. Brewing Plots

**2. Brewing Plots**

**_Saturday December 24, 484HE_**

Calla Senka, the Shadow. Don't ask me when or why people started calling me that, for I've got no idea.

I once heard a story spoken of me to children at midwinter celebrations, and it stuck in my head. "When the sun goes down and the shadows disappear, it is then that the Shadow walks invisible and takes what she wishes." It's a load of crap, but I find it extremely amusing and irritating at the same time. For one thing, even though I'm called the Shadow, it doesn't mean I have the ability to become invisible in the dark of night – it took me forever to learn such stealth, and I don't like it how people just assume that I didn't work curst hard to become good at what I do. The second thing is that, contrary to popular belief, I don't steal at night. Night's when I break in to sleep if it's too cold to sleep on a roof, or to escape from Evening Watch when they spot me.

Anyways, getting back to the whole point of my little story, I broke into a big house and slept in the attic that night, so I could snuggle up into all the blankets that were piled in there. I've been to that particular house before, so I was very comfortable. Only problem was, all night I couldn't stop thinking about those three man-mountains that 'just happened' to approach me. It was unusual that three drunks would follow me out of the Dove – not totally unheard of, mind you – but unusual. I only got to sleep after making myself practise some high energy exercises – my acrobatics is atrocious but it takes a lot of my strength; in this case, enough so that I fell asleep due to exhaustion.

.xXXx.

Ok. So I woke up in the morning and moved out of the house, which may have involved scampering down the drainpipe and slipping out the back gate while the guards changed over – I've said it before, and I bet I'll say it again – nobles are _stupid_. Oh well. Their idiocy is my gain, so I better not point this out to them. I tried once; the man didn't take it so well – got the Provost Guards to come over – of course, the reason he did this was cos I was kitted up in his room… I swear I did it for a dare – just to see how the idiot would take it. Not very well, apparently. I still have the scars to prove it.

I'm getting off track _again_. I swear, my head is all over the place, but s'not my fault that I am writin' this damn thing just after regaining consciousness… I guess I better write why this is. So I returned to the Dove, carefully restoring my bedroll and some of the coins and then walked in the door. There was the usual collection of drunks that had passed out from last night's celebrations scattered about, and Terry was at the bar cleaning up – he's about thirty and the barkeep, so he was a permanent fixture – he didn't spot me as he was working hard. Jak wasn't in his usual seat, but that wasn't unusual due to the big night he probably had.

I padded up the stairs, all the while avoiding pieces of broken glass, no doubt the last signs of whatever the drunks had gotten up to. Yet again, nothing too unusual.

No one else was in the dark passage, so I slipped silently into the room that was reserved for me. As usual, the bare walls greeted me. I left nothing personal here at all; mainly acos of the need to give nothing to anyone who wants to track me, but also cos it would just be stolen anyway, not to mention I don't spend much time there.

I collapsed on the bed and took a big breath to clear my head. Jak had given me nothing to do, so I had decided to find something to entertain myself with. My entertainment of choice was strictly restricted to something on the wrong side of the law.

I've no idea how long I was arguing with myself over if it would be better to steal from a noble or break into the palace – or both – when I heard activity in the hall.

Now, this is not the kind of activity you would expected of a pub full of drunks that probably feel like they had been attacked by an overeager hurrok – a lot of groaning and stumbling around – no. It was almost silent footsteps outside my door. I sprung up from my bed upon hearing someone stumble and curse, and then what sounded like someone shushing the person with a growl.

In a moment I pressed my ear to the door, and heard a whisper, _"Quiet you idiot! Paul said she was here – saw her come in himself. We have to go carefully if we're to succeed."_

I felt the familiar plunging of my gut when I realised that whoever was outside my door wasn't here for a social visit. I stood shocked until I heard something slide into the lock – the very lock that kept them away from me. It seemed as though the small tinkling kick-started my brain and my gaze snagged on the key for the very door that was being picked. I snatched it up and shoved it into the lock – effectively making picking it impossible. Luckily those guys didn't know that – yet.

I jumped away from the door and ran to the far side of my room. Now this room doesn't have a window, isn't it on the top floor and doesn't have any other doors. How does one escape?, you may ask. Well, this had to be my favourite trick. I don't.

No one, not even Jak, knows about my own modifications to this room. It wouldn't have amused him to see what I did to it, but he'd probably like the end result.

.xXXx.

I almost held my breath as, seconds after I had slipped into the wall panel; the very same three man-mountains from last night broke my door down. I almost laughed at the somewhat adorable looks of confusion and astonishment that they all possessed upon seeing an empty room, with a very empty bed in the corner. One even rubbed his eyes, then cursed. This seemed to break the taboo of dumbfounded silence that had sprung up, and the other three cursed like sailors. I thought they were very unimaginative, myself.

One of them walked forward and tore up my bed. I almost sighed. This was the fourth reason I had no possessions here: whenever someone 'traps' me in here, and I manage to 'disappear' out of a room with only one door and no windows, the pursuer tends to go on a rampage. As in wreak everything in sight.

After he finished venting his anger on my unsuspecting bed, he turned to the others and all but snarled, "What are you still doing here? Go after her! She ain't a real shadow, ya loobies, she's gotta be somewhere!"

The other two blundered out of the room, leaving the apparent ringleader standing there. I heard him mutter to himself, "Gone last night, now she's gone again today. At least the cove's injured, that oughta make it easier to take him down." Then he gave my door one last kick and strode out after his buddies.

I stayed in the wall panel for a while, against the odd chance that someone as waiting outside. I can remember how frustrated I was: someone – a cove – had been injured. Pretty badly, from the sounds of it, and that was somehow linked to them trying to get at me. It seemed like a plot was brewing. I had two feelings about this – one was that this was bad; who knew what these psychos were after? My other thoughts about this were much more entertaining to focus on – this would at least alleviate my boredom.

.xXXx.

A lot more happened really quickly after that, but I have a killer headache so I'm gonna stop this here, even though I am about a week behind. I'm stuck in bed so I guess I'll finish writing what happened tomorrow, but now I need to sleep. Urgh I hate being coddled.


	3. Bruises

3

**3. Bruises**

After that last man left and I had waited a while to be certain, I slid back through the wall and crept out of my room, casting one last regretful look at my torn up bed.

I went into full stealth mode (which entailed putting on an aggrieved face and stumbling around like I had a hangover – trust me, very inconspicuous when you're at the Dove in the morning) and decided that I'd go and give Jak a piece of my mind and demand he buy me a new bed. Yes, I know that this may seem unfair; but hey, as far as I'm concerned it didn't matter whose fault it was, just as long as I got a new bed. And it _was_ technically Jak's responsibility for the upkeep of the Dove.

Ok, so back to me stumbling down the corridor to Jak's room. Well, I stumbled and grunted like the best of them, attracting sympathetic glances from some of the other rogues. Yes, I will tell you now that I was fully aware of the paradox of the situation – and how hilarious it was, although my lips twitched not a whit.

When I reached Jak's door, I was undeterred by the fact that it was locked. I just shook my head at his foolishness – what was the point of a locked door in a house full of thieves? Sure, I guess he probably uses it to the same effect that I use mine – a window of escape (and he actually _has_ a window to jump out of… not to mention the five other doors) but when he is as drunk as he was last night, there really was no point. So I just twiddled my fingers and the lock cracked open (admittedly with some use of my trusty picks) and I firmly placed one hand over my eyes and sauntered inside.

Now, one may think that one entering a room blind is a very unusual and stupid thing to do – even more so considering that the occupant of that room is the Rogue and predisposed to attack any unannounced visitors – but I consider it saving my sanity. You see, the first few times I bothered to 'intrude' in the morning (to complain about something, although I can't remember exactly what it was at this moment) I was mentally scarred for life. Yes _for life_. I was not so troubled by Jak himself, it was more the woman next to him shudder and the mental pictures of what both of them had been doing previously. And now I will probably get those mental pictures every time I read over this journal – great idea, Calla. (note sarcasm, it is extremely important).

Ahh yes, so we're back on track and I've just waltzed into Jak's room, and decided to shout something like, "Get your clothes on for Mithros' sakes!"… when I realised that there was no surprised shriek (usually curtesy of whichever doxie he had spent the night with) or dagger at my throat. This may seem like an odd thing to miss, but that is pretty much the standard 'hi, how are you?' when you enter the Rogue's room. And yes, I know that that is very paranoid. Trust me, I've berated him many times. But it never seems to stick. So I continue barging in with shielded eyes and he continues to point a dagger at my throat. What can I say? We don't have a perfectly healthy relationship. In more ways than one.

So due to the absence of the dagger at my throat and/or a scream, I decided that the coast just may be clear. Cautiously I parted my fingers and opened my eye a crack.

I was not brave enough to look towards the bed, so I started with a side of the room. Instantly I saw that there seemed to be much less stuff hanging around. Feeling a tad bit braver I dared to open both eyes and check the bed. It was empty. NOT GOOD. Immediately after this, I saw small signs of a struggle and a hell of a lot of blood on the bed sheets. Something clenched in my gut as I stared stunned for a few moments. My breath started to come faster as I realised the implications of this, but before I reached hyperventilating status I forced myself to calm down. It may not be exactly what it looked like.

Glancing around, I started hoping to Mithros that it _wasn't_ what it looked like. Think. I told myself. Unfortunately panicking seems to slow down the whole rational thought processes – go figure. I closed my eyes and re-examined all that had happened in the short space of the morning. I remembered something that the rushers (thugs) had inadvertently told me: _"At least the cove's injured, that oughta make it easier to take him down."_ 'The Cove' he was referring to **must** have been Jak. Or at least that's what I was telling myself – because 'the cove' was only injured. Not dead. I'll take anything that entails Jak actually being alive. My mind somehow followed this rational line of thought (or at least what I hoped was rational) and turned to where Jak would go in the eventuality the he was injured.

Ah-ha! My mind supplied me with the first tangible and realistic thought that it had had in a few minutes – the bolt hole. Immediately upon coming to this inspiration, I 'stumbled' precariously down the stairs (what kind of looby would I be if I all of a sudden dropped my disguise?) and out the back of the Dove.

While I was casually strutting and weaving through the early morning markets - being careful enough to lose any who may be following me – if Jak was alive, I wasn't looby enough to go charging straight to his hidey hole.

As I weaved I contrived to 'find' my breakfast (which consisted of a turnover) - hey, I had no patience for going back to get my coin – and slowly made my way to a house on the east side of the Patten district (what better way to hide the Rogue than by doing it right under the Provost's nose?).

A few very frustrating hours later – yes, _hours_ – I arrived at an inoffensive little house with a high wall around it.

Didn't I mention just how damn paranoid the Rogue is? Well, he made a very specific set of rules that must be followed every single time that one of those very few people who actually know that it exists (his inner circle) want to go there. On a side note, can you believe how appreciated it makes me feel to be included in his 'most trusted' category? Well, I've got to tell you a lot. Not that he could have actually _stopped_ me from finding out, but still. Glancing around at the dead street, I decided that my feet hurt so damn much that if Jak was alive and in there I would have words with him about those stupid rules.

So, I knocked on the gate impatiently – rapping out the proper code, of course. (I deducted that now was not the time to try anyone's patience with me… especially since the last time I had to go around the back and stop them from 'escaping' from their 'enemies.' Mithros knows they can't take a joke.) And was met with a dark brown eye peering through a gap in the wood – to which I waved cheerfully. (Never let anyone say I am anything but pleasant… and annoying.) I witnessed with a grin that the eye rolled in exasperation and then I heard the locks and obstacles being removed.

So I was kinda just standing there thinking if there was an end to the paranoia (yes, even though I am _supposed_ to be used to it) when the door flew open and a hand with red nails yanked me through the opening and shut the gate back up.

Yes, she _yanked_ me. I felt a little degraded. And then she swung around and pointed a long fingernail at me accusingly, "Where the hell have you _been_ Calla? We were startin' ter think you'd been sent off to the peaceful realms. Let me assure you that Cameron was quite disappointed that you should even _consider_ wasting all the patch up jobs he's done on you!"

I got a sheepish look on my face and stepped back from Deana's accusatory finger. Let me tell you that the women of the rogue are certainly under control when the Queen's around. I think she could make even the young ones shudder in their skin.

"Ok that seems like maximum rage. Calm it down abit there Deana, it actually wasn't my fault that I haven't gotten here sooner."

My clearly logical and totally truthful explanation was cut short by her snort of disbelief.

Sigh. No one believes me, ever. I held up my hands in a gesture of 'don't-kill-me-im-tellin-the-truth' and ploughed on with my explanation, "I really mean it this time, it wasn't my fault! No one even _bothered_ to inform me that something had happened! I only came here acos of the fact that there was a literal pool of blood on Jak's bed. Would you mind telling me why it is that Cam thought I was dead?"

Deana chewed on her thumbnail thoughtfully, as if contemplating if they had actually forgotten to inform me. Yes, she actually had to think about if she had forgotten me – apparently it was just so much of a far-out idea that it was almost unbelievable.

Normally, one would feel happy that no one ever forgot you, but the story of my life is that no one ever forgets me for the _wrong_ reasons. They seem to believe that they need to keep tabs on me against my doing something stupid. I am indignant on this point. I have never done anything stupid. I can write that down in complete honesty. I will, however, admit to doing _some_ things that are highly entertaining, and that _some_ people seem to have misconstrued those things as stupid. But they weren't.

Deana's eyes widened as she realised that she had, in fact, forgotten to inform me. She seemed to dismiss this just as quickly, with the added bonus of her eyes softening their anger and a small grin forming on her face. "Lucky for us you're fast, Calla. Else wise we would of thought you were dead."

I sighed loudly and rolled my eyes. She chuckled at this and then got to business. "Ok, so this morning some rushers broke into Jak's room and caught him in less-than-good condition-" her eyes revealed that she held me at least part ways responsible for this… gods, she must have ears in the walls if she found out that I'd had to reject him again – "and they got him in the belly. Fortunately Harrison was watching him and he managed to keep them from actually killing him. It was touch and go there for a moment, but he managed to stop the bleeding and got Zara to help him get Jak back here. Cam worked his magic and he's sleepin right now."

I nodded silently. There was no need to inform her for the millionth time that it wasn't my fault that Jak was so cracknobbed that he would continue to pursue me – it would just end up in an argument that we both knew the steps to. I figured that in this particular situation, we could just skip the actual verbalisation of it and mulishly disagree to agree to disagreeing and agreeing. I swear that makes sense, in a weird way.

After that, I followed Deana to an upstairs room in which a very pale Jak with a large collection of cloth wrapped around his belly was lying unconscious. This was actually fortunate for him, as Cam was pacing around the room, his hands never staying in one place, his feet never breaking the loop. Cam (or Cameron) was our very own healer – admittedly not as well trained as those bigheads at the palace, but he gets us by just fine. Only problem is, he is actually _more_ paranoid that Jak - and let me tell you that that is a very hard level of paranoia to obtain, and he doesn't even really have a reason for it.

Cam's got a lanky build with dark blue eyes and chaotic black hair, and I swear that in all the time I've spent with him, he hasn't been still for more than ten minutes at a time. Admittedly they were under high stress situations – those injuries that Deana alluded to - and other shifty Rogue business that required a bolt hole with help on hand. But still, I know pigeons that can be calmer than him.

All of a sudden he turned around and saw us standing in the doorway, and upon seeing me, heaved a sigh of relief, "Calla! Thank Mithros that you don't need patching up, I don't think I coulda managed it after Jak here. Why didn't you get here before? Are you sure no one followed you? Are –"

I rolled my eyes and cut him off, knowing that he'd keep up the questions if I didn't stop them fast, "Deana here can explain exactly why I wasn't here sooner. But I guess some of the blame would go to the stringent rules about getting _in_ here. Which is coincidentally _why_ I am absolutely _certain_ that no one saw me coming here."

Cam opened his mouth to refute my accusations when a loud groan came from the bed. We all whipped around and saw Jak's glims slip open, but he just stared disconcertingly at me for a moment then closed them again, his face smoothing out. Goddess help me, even in a semi-conscious state he's after me.

Deana looked at me pointedly, and I ignored it. She had been trying to get me back with Jak ever since we broke it off. She just likes to meddle. And yes, that does seem like a very un-Rogue Queen type of hobby, but it surprisingly helps her a lot. With the ordering around thing, that is. She gets to fine-tune her bossy-ness for when it really counts. And I get to give my stubbornness a workout.

I pursed my lips at her, but instead of fighting with her I managed to convince her to let me go get something for lunch.

.xXXx.

Now, I'm keeping this part brief acos of the fact that _someone_ is starting to tease me about writing in this thing – _threaten_ me actually – with stealing it while I sleep. The nerve of some people.

Basically, while I was out I was set upon by some rushers that obviously gave not a whit for the Rogue. I'd bet that they were working for that melodramatic cove who dismembered my poor bed.

Point is, I was in this side street and I will say absolutely truthfully that I stood no chance. None at all. Zip. Nada. Non existent. I was being beaten to a pulp when some others of Jak's inner circle happened upon us.

How much would you bet that Deana contrived to get them to keep a lookout for me? After learning about my 'attack' in the morning – I maintain that she has ears in the walls... hey, it _is_ possible, there's nothing else in them – and I sure didn't tell her.

Anyways all I remember is pain – a lot of pain. It felt like I was drowning in it and the street was blurring. Only later did I discover who came to my 'rescue.' I was out for a few days even with Cam's help – he was still drained from Jak's healing, and he could only prod me along. I had to suffer bruises the size of Corus – and lucky me will probably still be suffering them in a month's time.

And that is basically the reason why I ended up being coddled in bed… It's quite sad actually, and very annoying cos now I can't escape Jak's smug attitude (yes, he is awake) and it's driving me insane. Oh, and the cherry on top is that Deana has me kitted up on a mat on the floor of his room, supposedly because it would be better for Cam's sanity – him not having to pace from room-to-room.

So now that I'm all caught up in my journal I can rest easy. Well, as easy as I can rest in a house full of people who are teasing me about being cornered – "Oh Calla, what kind of shadow are ya?"… "Calla, that's a mighty big bruise ya got there"… "Calla, you are such a looby"… so yes, the taunting continues. Unfortunately whenever I get grounded (i.e. beaten to a pulp and forced to stay still) they all have a laugh at me, cos we all know that in other circumstances they would be at the tail end of alota trouble.

Did I mention I hate being coddled? I have to suffer through bruises to my ego as well as my body. Where's the fun in that?

.xXXx.

Well, I hope you guys liked that. Please review :) Skyflyte12

P.S. Yippee I finally wrote another chapter!!


End file.
